


They'll Know

by theycallmeDernhelm (onyourleft084)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Good Omens scenarios, Post-Armageddon, Reader-Insert, The Ineffable Con 2 Zine, comfort characters, short fiction, this is a love letter to the Good Omens fandom, zine entry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:49:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyourleft084/pseuds/theycallmeDernhelm
Summary: You wonder how, or why, two immortal, celestial beings would love you— and truly love you, not in the superficial human way that barely grasps at the straws of the concept. But that’s exactly the point, isn’t it? They would love you because you are human, and because, let’s face it, you’re loveable.
Relationships: Aziraphale | Crowley | Reader (platonic), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53
Collections: The Ineffable Con 2





	They'll Know

First of all, let me start by positing the idea that they would love you.

It will never be said out loud, but it will be felt; in your bones and in your heart, like a warm, sticky glow. Like a tiny sun covered in honey shining deep inside of you. You catch the fond look in Aziraphale’s eyes when he sets a cup of tea down in front of you. "Now, tell me all about your day, my dear." Take a breath, doesn’t need to be a deep one. Let your shoulders drop, let the walls come down. This is a being you can trust (and deep down you know, your most ancient of fathers trusted him, too; took the flaming sword from him at the back exit of Eden and ventured out into the unforgiving wilderness.) The tea is warm, already just the temperature you like even if he’s only poured it a few seconds ago. How does he do that?

People often talk about ‘safe spaces’. This is the safest space there is; an old, dusty bookshop in the heart of Soho, where books are somehow never sold and its proprietor never ages and there’s always something to nibble. "You wanna hear about my day?" You say, uncertainly, and they nod eagerly, an angel and a demon sitting on opposite ends of the world’s comfiest couch.

You find yourself trusting them inexplicably and soon you’re a regular in their lives— a returning visitor to the shop, a frequent passenger in the back seat of the Bentley. Crowley offers to drop you off at work, at the shops, at your next social engagement. He never reminds you to put your seatbelt on, but you catch him glancing at you in the rear view mirror, just to make absolutely sure. There’s no limit to the things you guys talk about. You see, you can tell them anything. Anything at all, and they will listen. Fairly speaking, their advice is rubbish, but they love you anyway. And all those feelings, those pesky ups and downs and dips and cracks that make up a human life? They’re not human, but they’ll understand. They’ll know.

Aziraphale knows how to fix a hard day at work. "I’ll make you some hot cocoa. That always used to cheer me up after a bad day." You sit with him next to the antique gramophone and exchange stories about your shitty bosses until you both learn to laugh it off, sides splitting. "You know, Aziraphale and I used to lie on our work memos all the time," Crowley interrupts, leaning on the back rest of your armchair, and Aziraphale brushes him off, "Nonsense. _You_ lied. I _omitted_ certain facts. And don’t go saying things like that in front of our young friend, you’re a terrible influence!"

You join them for lunch one time and you can’t stop looking at your phone, you count the seconds between one buzz and the next that tells you a certain someone is messaging you back. Maybe with heart emojis. "Distracted?" Crowley says, and you blush, expecting him to tease. He grins a sharp grin. "Oh, you’ve got it bad."

"Who’s got it bad?" says Aziraphale.

"Angel, our young friend is in love!"

Oh yeah, they know all about the love, all right. About the falling— and this is the only kind of falling Crowley is ready to talk about. About the uneasy giving-and-taking-and-keeping, because love’s not just a thing you fall into, it’s a thing you work on, and sometimes it takes six thousand years ("but we’re certain you’ll figure it all out sooner than that, love, don’t worry!") About watching someone from afar and hoping they will notice you and pining— oh yes, these two are experts in pining, they’ll know. They’ll know this and all the other emotions that get swirled up into it. Jealousy. Worry. Admiration. Frustration. Even when your heart gets broken, they’ll understand. You turn up at the door of the bookshop and even before Aziraphale opens it, he’ll know what you’re here for, and he’ll know what to do. Cup of tea. Slice of cake. Soothing music. "I don’t know. Do I really go too fast?" you sob, and just barely notice Aziraphale glancing at Crowley over your shoulder. There is something in the way they look at each other then. History.

"I‘ve got a better idea," Crowley says abruptly. "Let’s go out tonight. The three of us, loose in London. It’ll be great!"

Well, you’ve had worse ideas.

It’s easy to talk to them. It’s easy to share everything with them, even the things you’ve always been too embarrassed to share. It’s okay, they get it— they’ll know. Crowley will know the rage, collecting like an electric charge beneath your skin. He’ll know the anger, at the world and it’s people for being so unfair, and every complete turn of the earth gets a little bit colder every bit of the year. They will know the sadness, the mourning of things you’ve lost and people you used to be and people you no longer talk to, because you don’t live six thousand years without having to say goodbye to some friends.

They will know some of the fear, as well. The terror of never being able to run far enough away from what’s happened to you— Crowley will know, and he’ll see it in the way you rip a piece of bread between your fingers to shreds and he’ll put a hand on your shoulder and say something like "Bread’s not much good for ducks anyway" and turn it into a packet of grain with a wave of his hand. Handful by handful you toss it into the water until the waterfowl come. Kernels sink beneath the surface. You watch them until you forget what it was you were so afraid about. And the terror of not being able to see too far ahead— Aziraphale will know. He recognises the doubt in your face at the beginning of every chapter. If you quit your job, or found a new partner, or came out, or started a new project and your whole life’s about to change. "Everything will be fine," he assures you, and somehow it’s not just a comforting platitude, it’s the truth.

And the hurt? You’ll know it from the smile Crowley gives you, tight lipped and halfway between a grimace and a grin. He’ll know how it aches to look into the mirror at someone you have a hard time forgiving. The ache of being denied something you want, over and over. The ache of taking the blow of words that hurt even when by all accounts, they really shouldn’t— Aziraphale knows this, the ache of being called soft and useless and ridiculous. When you come to him and those words that have been thrown at you claw red marks into your heart, he’ll know and he’ll get it, he just will. "Cup of tea?" You won’t say no.

Aziraphale’s hugs are snug and warm, like you know they would be, but they are the safest and softest thing ever. He feels like downy feathers, like velvet. Crowley’s hugs are tight and zealous, the coils of an anaconda. He squeezes for a long time and then lets go, "right, that’s enough," but you could feel it; he’s very fond of you. They both are.

You wonder how this is possible, when after all they’re almost strangers; at least, they don’t know you as well as you think other people know you. You wonder how, or why, two immortal, celestial beings would love you— and truly love you, not in the superficial human way that barely grasps at the straws of the concept. But that’s exactly the point, isn’t it? They would love you because you are human, and because, let’s face it, you’re loveable. After all, one of them’s an angel, and you’ll find that he’s loved you even before he even met you. And the demon? He’ll find something about you to love; something you didn’t know you had, or something you have a hard time loving about yourself. He won’t say anything because that’s not his way, not really; but don’t let that cool, aloof exterior fool you. He does.

And you can tell them anything. Anything at all. Whatever makes you happiest, or angriest, or most scared, or most hopeful. They’ll know. Two ageless, occult, ethereal beings older than time itself and yet they will know. Everything you’ve felt or are feeling or will feel, they’ve already felt, already walked the paths you’re stumbling along right now. So when they reach out their hands, don’t be afraid to take them.

You need them sometimes and that’s okay. We all need a little angel, a little demon, both at the same time, because no matter what happens, for good or for evil, they’re beside you. All you need to do is call out in the silence, reach out in the darkness. 

And they’ll be there, because they’ll know. 

**Author's Note:**

> First published in the Ineffable Con 2 Zine (October 2020). 
> 
> To all the Good Omens fans who need it, with love.


End file.
